


The Dragon Queen and the Kraken King

by TheCatLady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Brief Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCatLady/pseuds/TheCatLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victarion Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen claim the Iron Throne as king and queen of Westeros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dragon Queen and the Kraken King

Victarion Greyjoy did not enjoy being a southron king; that much was clear to Daenerys not long after they claimed King's Landing in a siege unlike any Westeros had ever seen, not since Aegon the Conqueror had claimed the Iron Throne with his sister-wives and his dragons so long ago.

The moment the war was over, and the remaining great houses bent the knee to them, Dany sat upon the Iron Throne for the first time. It was far more spectacular in real life than Daenerys could ever dream; both in her imagination, and the in the House of the Undying. Victarion is happy enough not to sit on a chair made from melted swords; he stood dutifully at her side instead; her beloved kraken king. He remarked occasionally on how uncomfortable the throne seemed, but Dany had never felt more comfortable, more at peace in her life – this was where she belonged, of that she was certain.

Her dragons guarded the palace gates, and Dany could not imagine a soul in existence who would dare try to cross their paths, not after the war. Dragon fire caused more destruction than one could possibly think, and hers was a victory won in fire and blood, as promised.

They called her many names. Some kind, some not so much. A foolish few were dim enough to call her a usurper – they met with a terrible fate each and every time. Quite a few houses were relieved to see the return of the Targaryens, but there was distrust in the eyes of those who were still unsure of whether or not Daenerys was as mad as her father had once been. She'd smile at those who bent the knee and swore fealty to her as she sat upon her throne; none refused. And why would they, when the alternative was to become food for Drogon? Victarion did not smile, however. He'd look at them all, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He did not trust "greenlanders", that much was clear. He missed the Iron Islands. He missed sailing with the wind at his back and the horizon before him. He was a ship captain who would've been happier with a quiet life at sea than to be king of a land he looked upon with disdain.

But it was he who sought her out first, not the other way around. When she looked upon him for the first time, the thing she'd noticed first and foremost was how much he reminded her of Khal Drogo. A tall, proud, powerful warrior with dark hair and regal presence that commanded respect. She'd been drawn to him immediately; she wanted him, and was pleased beyond words when he offered his allegiance in exchange for her hand in marriage. The Greyjoys would be powerful allies, she knew; Viserys always spoke of how he believed they would be one of the houses who would rise when he retook the Iron Throne. And this man, Victarion, would be an ideal king. He would be her sword arm, the physical strength she lacked.

A kraken was a fit companion for a dragon.

Thinking of Viserys hurt her for some reason. Yet when she sat upon her throne, he always came to mind immediately. She wondered what he would say; what he would think. She thought that often, but moreso now that Westeros was finally hers. Finally theirs once more. Would he be proud at what she accomplished? It was hard to determine, and it was a question she would never receive an answer to, so she tried not to dwell on it. Ruling a land so heavily affected by war was tough enough without thinking of her brother every step of the way, and Daenerys did not trust her small council. They had served her father faithfully, yes, but they'd also served the usurper Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters.

Over time, she came to rely on her husband more to tell her the truth behind political matters and petty grievances. Her reliance on Victarion annoyed her somewhat; she'd pictured herself to be more independent, but his presence was comforting in this strange land; they hadn't known each other long, but she trusted him above all others. They fought quite often enough, but neither could remain angry at the other for too long.

Admittedly, Daenerys's favourite part of her new marriage to the kraken warrior of the Iron Islands was when she crawled into bed with him at night. Some evenings she fell asleep before her head hit the pillow, but there were others where she would mount him without a word and already find him hard and wanting; it made her feel guilty that some nights she left him in such a state while she slumbered unaware. After the beginning of her marriage with Drogo in her early days, Daenerys came to dislike being dominated by a much larger man, though if Victarion minded, he certainly never complained. He even seemed to enjoy her assertiveness, and Dany found herself wondering if his last wives were far more docile than she. Sometimes, in throws of ecstasy, he would flip her over and take her from behind. So lost she would be in her pleasure that all she would do was cry out and shudder and grip the bed sheets until her nails ripped into them as he gripped her small hips in his large, calloused hands and rammed into her.

It took her five years before she fell pregnant with their first child – when the maester had told her, she'd raged and yelled at him for being cruel and insolent. She would never bear a living child; her womb was cursed. But sure enough, months passed, and her stomach swelled and her dubious happiness was fragile throughout her entire pregnancy; she feared that at any moment, she would bleed, her baby would die, and Victarion would hate her and never want to touch her again.

When she woke on her bed of blood and was given a small, crying babe wrapped in warm, soft blankets, Daenerys began to cry for the first time in a very long time. Not only had she been given a child, but it was a healthy, strong son. He was a blessing from the gods, and ever since his birth, she'd gone to the Sept to thank them every day. When Victarion held their son, whom she named Urrigon after his deceased brother, he looked so proud of her she swelled with delight and felt like she would burst from sheer bliss.

Shortly after the birth of their son – a boy Daenerys constantly looked upon as a miracle – Victarion began to talk to her more, and felt more comfortable talking to Daenerys about his old life in Pyke and beyond. She'd been patient with him all these years, knowing what it was like to be apprehensive about trusting someone new in your life, unsure of whether or not they would betray you as others had before. She listened to some of the stories he told with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm in his voice; sometimes, he'd smile a certain kind of smile she was unable to describe and she'd find herself grinning back. There were other stories he told, much darker ones, where Dany would long to reach out and touch his face, comfort him, kiss him, ride him – anything to make him feel better, and make him forget the bad memories and focus only on the good. The darkest part of his past, the source of stoic hatred, was the thing he was most reluctant to talk about; his older brother, Euron. That was an even sadder story that she found out from the mouths of others long before she heard it from her husband's.

Victarion's first act as king consort of Westeros, after standing guard for Daenerys as she received oaths of fealty, was personally executing Euron Crow's Eye. The man had died laughing at Victarion, something that had driven him mad for days. He'd felt guilty for being the one who swung the sword; he'd hated him more than he'd ever hated anyone, but cursed was the kinslayer, as Damphair kept telling him. He'd been tempted to leave his position as king and take the black as a kinslayer, but Dany had begged him not to leave, so he stayed for her.

She'd only met Euron Crow's Eye once, but she'd heard stories – stories and rumours of blood magic and dark, dangerous pacts with demons that chilled her to the bone. She remembered the way he'd looked at her, with his one blue eye – it was as though he could speak to her, see right through her and see her very soul, using his eye alone. She'd shuddered and looked away until Victarion swung the sword. His body was thrown in Blackwater Bay, and that had been the last Victarion had ever spoken of Euron Greyjoy, though Dany knew beyond a doubt that she was not the only one being plagued by a brother whose death she was partially – if not entirely – responsible for. Could she have killed Viserys herself, she wondered as she watched Euron's life's blood spill out of his decapitated body and onto the ground. Or would she have needed Victarion's assistance for that as well, if Drogo had not been there to do it for her?

Do not think of Viserys, her mind scolded her, and thoughts of her brother were once more pushed aside; for the more she thought about Viserys, the guiltier she felt every time she sat upon the throne. Which was ridiculous, she knew – she had no reason to feel guilty. She had done what he could not; she'd taken Westeros and restored the Targaryen dynasty. Yet when she looked around at the carnage Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal had caused, sometimes she wondered if it had all been worth it. Westeros had already been war-torn by the Baratheons, the Starks and the Lannisters – the last thing the populace needed was to have their homes and families burnt to cinders.

But what was done could not be undone, and now that Westeros was hers, she could concentrate on peace and the restoration of order. She would prove to them all that Targaryens belonged on the Iron Throne; it was their rightful place, and they weren't all tyrants. Only time would change the public opinion though, for words were but wind and talk was cheap, but it was a price Dany was willing to pay.

Time passed in Westeros; ten years old, and her son had the fiery temper of a Targaryen, the strength and skill of a Greyjoy, Victarion's dark hair, Dany's violet eyes, with his uncle's lithe grace and poise, and his aunt's wit and humour. To both his parents, he was perfect in every way possible. Daenerys watched him closely from a balcony above the courtyard where he practiced sword fighting with wooden sticks with boys his age, laughing and jesting and taunting among themselves. Urrigon wore black boiled leather with a crest split in half over his right breast – one side bore half the Targaryen three-headed dragon sigil, the other half was the mighty kraken that adorned the Greyjoy banners. Soon, Dany became aware of Victarion standing beside her, watching his son with a pride only a father could comprehend.

After watching a few play fights together in companionable silence, Urrigon spotted them and waved to them with a haughty grin, which earned him a few jibes from his friends. Daenerys smiled, unaffected, and waved back to her heir-apparent. More silence passed between them, but this one was much shorter.

"Do you miss it?" Dany asked her husband finally, her gaze never leaving Urrigon. Even now, every time she looked at him, she remained terrified that if she blinked he would disappear and be nothing but a beautiful dream.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Victarion turn towards her slightly. "Miss what?"

"The sea," bending over the railing, her eyes finally tore themselves away from Urrigon to rest upon Victarion instead, "The wide open horizon, beckoning you forth."

He looked melancholy. "Sometimes," He replied honestly.

Nodding, she looked back at Urrigon, somewhat crestfallen by his answer. As if sensing her reaction, Victarion moved closer to Daenerys, and snaked an arm around her waist. She leaned against his chest, unbothered by his armour. Even in King's Landing, Victarion always wore armour; perpetually ready for battle. It was a garb that often earned the ire of court, but Victarion hadn't liked the feel of any of the velvety clothes she'd collected for him. Velvet was what you made love in, he told her. Leather and chain was what you wore day to day. It helped to be prepared, he said, and admittedly, Daenerys felt safer with a king at her side who preferred armour to a velvet doublet.

"Make no mistake… I do not regret you," He said with the unusual, rueful kindness he often displayed when they were alone together, "And I do not regret him." He continued, nodding towards Urrigon down below. "You are both far more than I ever had any right to expect; more than I deserve. More than what I had. And if I had to go back, I would do it all over again."

His elaboration brought a smile to her lips. "You wouldn't change anything?" Daenerys thought of the heartbreak with the three salt wives; Victarion laying siege to King's Landing with his massive war axe and slaying countless men; beheading his elder brother and abandoning the unending sea in favour of limited green lands…

But Victarion just smiled a little, content and unconcerned.

"Not a thing," he promised with a soft kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older work, brought over from my account on FF.net. Thought I would share it here. Enjoy!


End file.
